


Maybe can be Sometimes Enough

by Truth



Category: Kraken - China Mieville
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something awkward about owing your life to someone from another world.  It's even more awkward when it's the world that you've always lived in, however unknowing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe can be Sometimes Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marchingjaybird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/gifts).



> I had actually never heard of this book, but the prompt intrigued me. I found the book, read it - and may have a new favorite author. So for that, if nothing else, thank you so much. I hope you enjoy the story.

Billy became aware of the dream when he opened his eyes to inky blackness. It wasn’t the darkness of the stygian deeps that hid the silent kraken or even the more benign grey shadows of the bedroom in which he’d fallen asleep. This was a liquid darkness that held a directed malice and pressed around him hungrily, trying to swallow him whole.

There was an unforgiving, implacable press of oily black, a solid wall – and it took him several long minutes to realize that there was a curve of glass between himself and the searching darkness. The barrier was so close that he could see the individual heavy whorls in the black as it roiled, held away from him and somehow furious at that denial.

As he realized that he was floating within the tank for which they searched, he found himself drawn away from the curve of glass, pulled backward by the heavy, twining tentacles drawn in by something unexpectedly warm and embracing. The deadness was absent and this wasn’t his Architeuthis, with its carefully preserved and coiling limbs. Something alive, something drawing him in, to hide him from the seeking blackness, coiling around him to protect –

\- and being swallowed in turn by the darkness even as it shielded him.

He woke with a start, heart pounding as he looked up at ceiling graced by a long crack, inexpertly plastered and partially concealed by a smattering of glow in the dark stars. He could hear the faint spatter of rain against a nearby window, concealed by a pair of curtains covered with cartoonish shapes and bright colors only barely visible in the gloom.

Rising stiffly from the small bed, he stretched, wondering at the dream. It made no more sense than any of the others and Billy could feel frustration pressing against his temples, promising a headache. He barked his shin on some toy, unseen in the darkness, and cursed the imaginary child who apparently never cleaned their room.

Light leaked down the short hallway from the tiny kitchenette and Billy was unsurprised to find Dane sitting at the table, a cup between his hands. The big man was staring into his drink as if it held some secret only he could see, and Billy wondered if it might be true. The small clock on the wall beside the window told him that the morning was still some distance away, the grey light creeping through the windows the result of streetlamps, not the coming dawn.

“Will it help? The rain, I mean.”

Dane looked up at him, treating the question with a thoughtful respect that took Billy by surprise. “For some things, yeah. Goss’ll have a harder time. People who use birds to spy are out of luck. Few enjoy trying to fly in the wet. Most electronic knacks are rubbish in the weather.”

“Only some things?” Billy found the kettle, still steaming slightly despite being unplugged. There was a bag of instant coffee beside it, a personal quirk of the imaginary people who inhabited this place, protecting them from their hunters. Beggers can’t be choosers, after all, and he found a cup in a nearby cupboard as he waited for Dane’s reply.

Silence filled the room as he mixed the stale crystals into the steaming water and when he turned, Dane was watching him with a faint frown. As their eyes met, Dane shook his head, remembering Billy’s question.

“The rain helps those with a water knack.” Dane shrugged and looked down at his own portion of cheap coffee. “Better to stay under cover today. Some can smell the water as Goss tastes the dry ground.”

There was food enough, even if it wasn’t the sort of thing Billy might’ve chosen. The flat had warmth, at least enough to fight the chill of the rain. There were worse places to spend a day, but the empty flat with its non-existent family brought a sense of claustrophobia that had nothing to do with its modest size.

Billy settled on the opposite side of the table, watching Dane over the rim of his cup. He was afraid. He was restless. He was filled with the urge to go and to do. Yet here they sat, probably for the day, and dawn was still to come. Billy found himself wondering how long Dane had worked at the Darwin Centre; how long he’d waited for what was to come.

“Why were you there, at the Darwin Centre?” Billy suddenly felt it an important question. He’d assumed that Dane had been placed to watch over the kraken. Here, in the pre-dawn silence, it was an answer that didn’t fit. “No one ever suspected it might be stolen, no matter what Moore said about standing guard. The theft took everyone by surprise. It wasn’t hidden away from the general public, and your people came in to see it - probably daily. So… why?”

Dane again took his time in answering, swirling the dregs of his coffee in the cup like a miniature maelstrom. Billy thought that if a tiny kraken appeared in the dark sea that swirled so easily between Dane’s hands, he would not be surprised.

“To stand watch,” Dane said, finally. “To see.”

“People like you aren’t sent to stand ritual guard,” Billy responded flatly. “I know what Moore said, but anyone would’ve done if that’s all that was wanted. You don’t just stand places. It’s not what you are.”

“So you’re an expert on me now?” Dane said. He set his cup down with a sharp ‘click’ against the table. Billy could see, again, the hard press of anger that Dane still carried just beneath the surface. “Just a few days ago, you didn’t know nothing about me, or the kraken. You’d no idea what you’d done – what it was in that tank you were so proud of. How can you–“

Billy broke into the stream of words without hesitation. “You told me yourself. You’re a doer, someone who gets things done. You’re the best – and if you were content to stand and wait, we’d both be back at the church still. Why would you lie to me, Dane? You were there with a purpose, and it wasn’t to stand and think holy thoughts.”

There was a long, tense silence as Dane stared angrily at Billy, jaw clenched and hands testing the ability of the cup to withstand the pressure of his tightening fingers.

Billy wasn’t afraid of Dane, not after Goss and Subby; not after the Tattoo. Dane wasn’t that sort. He’d seen Dane’s faith, or at least the edges of it, and that faith was strong and true. Dane wouldn’t hurt him, not for anything so trivial as an argument. Billy had faith too, new and untried, but it wasn’t faith in the kraken god that was the center of Dane’s life; Billy’s faith was in Dane.

Some of that must have showed, as Dane slowly relaxed. “Call me a liar – fair enough.”

“You weren’t there for the kraken.” Billy was sure of that, just as sure that Dane would never have taken the position if it hadn’t brought him close to the Architeuthis. “There’s more.”

Dane shook his head, anger still visible in the way he held himself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Probably not,” Billy said. He discarded the grainy coffee, sliding the cup away with a frustrated sigh. “But with all the things I don’t understand, you could at least try to clear this one up.”

A final swallow of coffee bought Dane a moment of time that wasn’t precisely stalling. He set the cup on the table beside Billy’s and took a slow, calming breath. “The church had people to see the kraken at almost every tour. You got that, but hey didn’t come to see a dead god.” Dane looked up at Billy, face hard. “They came to see your work. You touched our god, Billy. You took its body and you put it in that tank where all the world could see it. You did that – and that’s why they put me at the Centre.”

“To watch me?” Billy asked. That was more ominous than reassuring. He’d known Dane was watching him, after all. “We’ve been over this. I’m just someone who puts dead things in jars. Whatever anyone might think, it’s coincidence.”

“You don’t believe it.” Dane’s voice was flat. “After all that’s gone on you’d have to be a fool to believe it. The Teuthex told you. You know things.”

“I don’t know anything!” Billy shouted. He’d seen and respected Dane’s anger, knowing it came from somewhere deep within, bound inextricably with the man’s faith. But the continued insistence that he knew, that he’d touched, that he’d seen…. He found himself on his feet, leaning into Dane’s space, still shouting. “There’s nothing there for me to know. They’re all hunting me for something I don’t have!”

Dane didn’t look particularly impressed. He raised his eyes, but didn’t bother to shift. Dane was taller than Billy and outweighed him easily. There was little enough that Billy could do, save shout. “We’ve done this argument. You have what they want, or something close enough. You not seeing it don’t mean they’re wrong.”

“It does! I can’t tell them what I don’t know!” Billy couldn’t stop shouting. He knew it was the wrong reaction, aimed at the wrong person; knew also that so much noise could draw attention and that he should stop. He couldn’t. Leon was dead. There were things hunting for him, he was dreaming the dreams of a dead god and not one bit of it was in his control; not even himself.

Dane rose from the table, shaking his head. Softly, he said, “Working yourself up’ll help nothing.”

“Do you think I don’t know?” Anger was better than fear as far as Billy was concerned, but he knew that both emotions were dangerous and would trip him up as surely as those hunting for them.

“It’s the weather.”

“What?” Billy stared at him, unable to deal with confusion atop the anger.

“The weather’s pressing you down, blocking you in.” Dane moved around the table to tap his fingers against the window. The grey pre-dawn was visible only through trailing drops of water, the window panes themselves fogged up with the earlier steam from the kettle. “You’re trapped like you was in the church, only now you got to face it. You know it ain’t safe to go out.”

“What makes it safer to stay here?” Billy pushed down the anger, wanting an answer more than a confrontation. “You said that it can be scried - seen. It’s a thin disguise.”

“Thin’s better’n naked.” Dane looked away from the fogged window. “You’re afraid, and that’s fine. You’d be an idiot, otherwise.” He looked at Billy measuringly. “Sleep while you can. The rain won’t last.”

Billy wanted to protest, wanted to demand that Dane somehow make this threatening new world fit the rules that he was used to. He recognized the urge as childish and throttled it. He wasn’t ready to retreat, but –

Dane wasn’t his enemy. He had left everything behind, everything, and he could’ve left Billy behind as well. Billy’s anger was still bright and hot but he wasn’t the sort of man who could keep it focused on someone who didn’t deserve it.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

“Still dreaming?” Dane refilled the kettle and plugged it in.

“Not always,” Billy said. It was almost a lie. He was pretty sure that he had dreams he didn’t remember. Those dreams couldn’t possibly count. Surely he’d remember them if they were important? Something about the grey pressure of the day and last simmering bubbles of anger prodded him to add, “They’re none of them any use.”

“They will be,” Dane said. He found a biscuit tin, contents only slightly stale, and offered them to Billy. “You wouldn’t have them if they didn’t mean something.”

“How can you believe that? This is supposed to be the end of the world, or near to it. How can dreams of a pickled kraken and dark waters tell us anything we don’t already know?” He took one of the biscuits and stared at it, again half expecting to see a shortbread squid of some sort. “The end of the world… why isn’t everyone panicking?”

“Some are. Some don’t care. Some are waiting for it with joy.” Dane looked again out the foggy window, watched the word be swallowed by cold drizzle. “Some don’t even believe. For them, the world might not end, or they’d just fail to notice.”

Billy slumped against the counter, weight on his elbows, to consider this. “How could you not notice? I mean, the end of the world and all, you’d think it’d catch your attention.”

“It’s not the same for everyone. D’you think if Goss and Subby hadn’t grabbed you, if you hadn’t seen the Tattoo, you’d know the end of the world was coming?” Dane reached out to touch the cool glass, as if seeing visions of his own in the drops and streams of water. “The end of the world’s different for every faith. Some have fire, some water, some flights of angels – there’s as many ways for the world to end as there’s beliefs. This thing, the one coming for us, it ain’t the right one. It’s someone else’s ending.”

Billy remembered this conversation, or one that had skirted these same thoughts. “What about people who don’t believe in anything at all? What sort of ending will they find?”

Dane gave a short laugh. “’When the earth splits and fire roars forth and the kraken rise from the depths, they’ll see only earthquakes and broken gas mains. There’ll be no wonder for them, no awe. They’ll end up hit by a falling streetlamp and good riddance’.”

“So… it’ll be an ending, though?” Billy asked. He felt that the logic was just out of his reach.

“It’ll be their ending.” Dane sounded grimly satisfied. He suddenly discovered the biscuit tin still in his hands and helped himself to one. After a bite, he said, “My granddad had views on atheists. He said anyone who couldn’t find something to believe in was either too stupid or too lazy to really see the world around them.” He glanced at Billy. “You’ve seen bits of what’s out there, heard what really goes on. Do you have something to believe in?”

Billy considered the question seriously. For everything that had happened since Goss and Subby unfolded themselves, he’d yet to find anything that he felt confident in, much less anything he could point to and say ‘I believe’.

Dane had another biscuit and made himself some more of the gritty instant coffee. He seemed content to let Billy struggle with the question. Eventually, he said, “Faith’s an easy thing if you have it, not so easy to find if you start without.”

“I have faith,” Billy said. The response was automatic, and he flushed slightly. “But… I’m not very good at religion. It’s always been one of those things that was just there when you wanted it and quiet and out of the way the rest of the time. There’s nothing I can believe in the way you believe in the kraken. I just – I don’t know if that kind of faith is in me.”

“You’ll find it.”

“How can you be so sure? If we’re looking at the end of the world, shouldn’t there be something that just cries out ‘this is it, pick me’?”

Dane shook his head. “If it were that easy, we’d all follow the same gods. Where’s your faith, Billy?”

“With you,” Billy said. He sighed. “You saved my life, you played fair when you didn’t have to, you let me escape from the church. You’re the only thing in this entire mess that I know from back when things were sane.”

Something from last night’s dream was still tugging at him, but Billy couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “I can’t believe in your kraken, but I believe that it’s real and that your faith is real. Maybe that’s close enough. Maybe it’s all I have time for before the world ends.”

There was a long pause as Dane frowned at him, causing Billy to wonder if he’d said the wrong thing. “Faith doesn’t deal in ‘maybe’.”

“It’ll have to,” Billy said. “I haven’t been certain of anything since –“

“Since you met Goss and Subby. They have that effect.” Dane made a gesture with his cup. “Faith in my faith?”

“Faith in you, period.”

“Fair enough,” Dane said. He was still frowning. “So why not faith in the dreams? The Teuthex told you they’re coming from within. Haven’t got any faith in yourself?”

“I don’t want to believe that something inside me is permanently fixated on dead things, at least some of them being me,” Billy said. There was something wrong with that statement, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “There has to be more to it.”

“There is,” Dane said, certainty in every word. “You’ll find it.”

Billy scowled at him, resenting Dane’s conviction. “But will I find it in time?”

Dane suddenly smiled. “I believe. You’ve just got to believe in my belief.”

“That’s not fair. It’s… circular logic.”

“It’s not logic at all.” Dane turned to wash out his cup, setting it neatly beside the sink. “You’ve got faith in me. You said it yourself. Maybe that’s enough.”

“Maybe again?” Billy sighed, suddenly feeling the effects of uneasy sleep and a too-early waking. The dim grey light in the kitchen hadn’t changed as they spoke, still seeming pre-dawn through the haze of rain. He was tired to his bones, but the thought of more dreams made sleep entirely unappealing.

“It’s enough,” Dane said. “You need sleep. It’s written all over you.”

“I don’t want to.” Billy rubbed at his eyes, unable to resist the yawn that called him a liar.

“If dreaming alone is too much, I’ll sit with you.” Dane gestured to the tiny sitting area and the sofa there.

The prospect of sleeping on a sofa lacked appeal, but for some reason the thought of Dane being there while he slept made it seem the sensible option. Billy stripped a blanket from the child’s bed he’d slept in earlier and stole a pillow as well. The sofa was barely big enough for one, but Dane was already sitting at one end when he returned, a book in one hand.

Billy curled up awkwardly in the small space, leaning back against Dane’s side as he pulled the blanket up to his ears. He didn’t want to admit it, but the bulk and warmth of the other man was something of a comfort. Billy hadn’t realized that he had begun to equate Dane’s presence with safety, but it made sense.

There was something else, still nagging for attention at the back of his mind, but sleep pulled him under with a speed that didn’t allow for further thought.

His sleep was long and, if he dreamed, he did not remember.


End file.
